


[Untitled] RvB Civilian AU

by unscheduledmakeouts



Series: [Unnamed as of yet] RvB AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Civilian AU, Multi, RvB AU, rating might go up later as well, red vs blue au, very much WIP, will add character and relationship tags as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unscheduledmakeouts/pseuds/unscheduledmakeouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're ex-military and live in the same neighbourhood, freelancers included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Arrival - Introduction Drabble #1 (Sarge, Tex, Grif)

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been working on writing an RvB ‘civilian’ AU (although they’re all ex-military) and I have quite a bit planned out for it. For now, though, I’m gonna be posting short introduction drabbles. Think of them as prologues. At some point (soon, I hope), I’m gonna write up the general idea of what I’ll be writing and also which pairings will be in this universe and such. I’ll give all of it a name eventually as well.

**3 Phyllis Lane, 10:34am, June 3rd**

_Why does it never bloody_ rain _?_

Sarge stopped digging for a moment and leaned against the shovel, squinting up at the burning sun.

_There’s dust everywhere from the dry soil and it’ll get all over my truck._

The tone of his inner monologue was two notches above tired and a tad to the left of sarcastic. He grunted at the perfectly blue sky and pulled his trucker hat further down over his eyes before resuming his work.

“It ain’t like I’m asking for a goddamn miracle here,” he muttered.

“Excuse me.”

Sarge jumped. The tone of the words wasn’t impolite but they still didn’t have the implication of a question mark at the end. Although to be perfectly honest, Sarge’s greatest surprise was that someone was speaking to him. He squinted at the stranger but didn’t get much farther than the cargo print on their clothes until the voice spoke again.

“I’m new. I moved into the empty house across from you, thought I’d, uh, say hi.”

The stranger was obviously a tad unsettled by Sarge’s minimal reaction and his lack of movement while staring them down. Duffel bag at their feet. More cargo print. Sunburn.

“Unless… you don’t talk?”

Blonde hair tucked under a military hat. Sarge raised his chin a bit, pushed his own hat back and met green eyes.

“Sorry ma’am, not used to new folk around here, that’s all.”

“Oh.” The tone was contemplative, not disappointed. “I think I recall something about you lot being reclusive.”

“Depends if you’re asking me or the fellows in number five,” Sarge grumbled. “Bloody social butterflies, those two.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You’re all ex-military, am I right?”

“More or less. I’m Sarge, ex-sergeant, the name stuck.” He didn’t offer a handshake and could see that one hadn’t been expected.

“I’m Allison,” the new arrival huffed as the duffel bag was hauled onto their shoulder. “You can call me Tex if you want, either works.”

“Tex, huh?” Sarge repeated. “Military nickname?” he added as an afterthought as he watched Tex cross the street.

“I guess you could say something like that.”

Sarge was still leaned on his shovel and as he watched the door to number 4 close he could feel himself being watched. He was also suddenly annoyed. He turned his head to the left and glared as his neighbour who had a new jam stain on his pyjama pants today.

“Since when do you talk to people?” Grif asked, eyebrows disappearing into the strands of his dark brown bedhead. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an actual conversation with you.”

“You’re spilling jam on yourself, dirtbag,” Sarge grunted and picked up the shovel again. He heard Grif curse and then the sound of his bare feet across the stone path as he went back inside.

_Why would anyone ever want to move here._

A single cloud appeared over the rooftops but Sarge was too preoccupied with his work to notice it.

 


	2. Bolts for Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction drabble #2 (Grif & Simmons)

**1 Phyllis Lane, 10:40am, June 3rd**

Simmons was _not_ in a comfortable situation.

He’d slept in later than usual today because Grif had kept him up way past midnight with one of those countless stupid shows he watched religiously. Simmons didn’t remember getting comfortable in bed which meant he must’ve passed out mid-episode, which would also explain why he woke up with a stiff neck and a shoulder that absolutely refused to move. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was really no one’s fault but his own. Still, having to drag out the toolbox first thing in the morning would always fill his entire body with a grating annoyance.

Simmons grunted as he adjusted a bolt on the back of his shoulder, struggling to reach and already feeling his other arm cramping up. It had been several years since he got cyborg’d up and he was fairly used to it by now but there was no escaping that stiff limbs required a lot more work when they were made of metal.

He heard Grif come back in and immediately put the wrench down, intently staring at the bedroom door as the muffled footsteps of his roommate approached. As Grif walked in, barefoot as usual, Simmons sighed and held the wrench out to him with an accusatory look on his face.

“This is your fault so you damn well fix it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Bullshit,” Grif threw back and put his sandwich plate on the bed, smearing jam on the sheets. Simmons cringed internally. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate badass monster trucks fighting,” Grif continued, still not looking Simmons in the eye.

“Are you seriously _offended_ by the fact that I fell asleep? At _three in the morning_?” Simmons asked, feeling his voice crank up a few notches.

“It was the best episode!” Grif almost-shouted, finally turning to face Simmons, his hands balled up into fists.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously! You already knew I was tired, I told you so many times!” Simmons bit back, definitely shouting now. “I don’t know how many times I’ll have to remind you but you are literally _alive_ because you’re _partially made of my body_ so would you please get your fat ass over here and help me with this fucking shoulder!”

“Fine!” Grif shouted back, snatching the wrench out of Simmons’ hand. “I’ll help you with your fucking goddamn stupid _shoulder!”_

He grabbed the metal and thrust the wrench into place, rustling Simmons’ body in the process. Simmons huffed but didn’t say anything; he was all out of shout-energy at the moment. He clenched his teeth together as Grif worked, slowly allowing himself to relax as he was shaken slightly with the tugs of the wrench.

“Man, you fucked this up pretty good,” Grif mumbled, finally breaking the silence. “You should’ve tightened these sooner.”

“No shit man,” Simmons huffed and rubbed his sore neck with his right hand. “But like I said it’s hard to do yourself.”

“Then you should’ve asked me to help you tighten them sooner,” Grif said as he gave the wrench one last tug before pulling it away. “You should be good now,” he added, his fingers gently massaging the scarred skin around the metal prosthesis. Simmons closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the contact for all of three seconds before slowly lifting his arm and finding that it moved without discomfort. Grif’s touch left his skin.

“What, and go through this argument again before it was necessary? As if,” he smirked as he stood up and patted Grif on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. You’d think I’d be better at taking care of these things by now.”

“Whatever. Just put a maintenance reminder in your phone or something,” Grif replied with an almost-smile. “I know how much you love routines.”

“Speaking of,” Simmons said as he pulled a shirt on and near-pranced into the kitchen. “Where the hell is my coffee?”

“Make it yourself,” Grif shot back but he was smiling as he followed his roommate out of the bedroom.

 

 


End file.
